


Ledger

by JustifiedGlass (Code16)



Series: Have To Offer [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU--with powers, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, CBT, Clamps - Freeform, Come Eating, Compulsion, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deepthroating, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Irrumatio, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Oral Sex/ Fellatio, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possible Sexual Inaccuracies, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Self-Sacrifice, Size Kink, Sounding, Strap-Ons, Torture, Watersports, You probably don't want to meet my id, chemical play, no redeeming qualities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-17 09:36:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5864089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Code16/pseuds/JustifiedGlass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having the power to ask of people what they would not have given otherwise is advantageous to make use of, for an operative. </p><p>Satisfying them in recompense as his power requires is - what it is.</p><p>(The PwP of Deal!verse)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Resources

**Author's Note:**

> (Deal follows a somewhat outline with worldbuilding and character relation bits. This, as noted above is basically PwP).
> 
> See notes for warnings.

A reason to be averse to seeing people in their homes is that they have resources. 

Diane invites him into the bedroom and then starts rummaging through drawers, before turning to set some things on top of the dresser.

“Clean up and come to dinner in ten minutes,” she tells him, and leaves. He walks over to the dresser. The unmarked tube is - either to be appreciated or not, he’ll find out. The toy is black, flared base - he’d never need an emergency room, but  _ that’s _ still to be appreciated. Smooth and apparently actually intended for this, which isn’t always something he can count on. Not too long, which is good if he’s going to be doing anything other than staying still. It’s also thicker around than his arm.

Ten minutes is - not a luxury he always gets either. He pulls his clothes off and goes for the tube. It is indeed lubricant. It also burns against his fingers, which - answers that question. And doesn’t make its presence any less of an order. 

John grits his teeth, no time to try to get used to whatever this chemical happens to be, and hurries as he can, with his fingers. His body will cooperate with anything at all possible, cooperated when the mark in Białystok wanted to put his fist in him immediately after handing John the documents. That didn’t make that an experience he wants to repeat any more often than he has to. He lies down to work the toy in. Advice lists suggested multiple positions, picking one you found most comfortable. (They also suggested stopping when you felt pain, withdrawing, maybe ending the session and continuing another day. That’s not in the cards for him, obviously.)

Walking as he can with it inside him makes him grit his teeth again. He can feel the weight of it, and movement shifts it, burning again in new places. Diane didn’t tell him where the bathroom was, so he has to look for it, crosses the same hallway twice before finally finding the right door. Getting to the dining room afterwards is easy, at least. 

Diane is sitting at the head of the table, looking approximately gleeful. There’s exactly one other place setting, and the chair has been plastic-wrapped, which isn’t hard to interpret. The plate looks to be food, which is something, and otherwise generally suggests that she’s into at least one form of watersports, in addition to oversized insertables. 

“Don’t be impatient!” she says when he goes to sit down. “I think I underseasoned it, anyway.” John pauses next to the table. “How many times can you come before you can’t get it up again?” He thinks of Kara, tries to figure out how to say that - isn’t an issue. “Nevermind, three’s fine. Don’t take your time; I want to eat.” He puts a hand on his dick. With Kara, it mostly went to dry climax after a while. But Diane has different interests, so his body obliges. “Good aim,” she tells him, smiles. “If you thank me for making dinner, you can eat now.” The inverse of that statement is, obviously, not available to him.

“Thank you for making dinner.”

“You’re very welcome! Have a seat!”

“Bon appetit!” she says when he does sit, eyes on his face, on how he’s carrying himself. He picks up his knife and fork and tries not to move against the chair too much.

Dinner goes about as well as the setup for it would suggest. He sits in the chair, because that’s what she wants of him, puts the food in his mouth and swallows it, because that’s what she wants of him. When she pushes a cup across the table, he swallows that too. At one point she leaves her place and walks up behind him, reaches down to work her fingers in behind the toy. Pain spikes, sharp, runs him through where he’s impaled on it already. 

“Keep eating,” she says in his ear, not a whisper. She has a glove on that hand, but only one. With her other hand she finds his balls, pinches the skin between her fingernails. He’s squeezing the fork and knife too hard; his hands ache around them. His jaw aches at his temples. He keeps eating.

After dinner she has him do the dishes, watching his ass as he carries them to the sink and then stands at it. He wipes down the table, the counter. 

“I think I dropped some crumbs,” she tells him, which means ‘get down and get them’ and not ‘fetch a broom’, of course. After, she moves him into the living room. Part of the couch is also plastic-wrapped. 

“Make yourself uncomfortable,” she says. Amused by the pun, clearly. Which also doesn’t make it any less of an order. She walks out of the room, returns with a zippered case. Opens it to reveal slightly curved metal rods and a clearly wider interest in the field of insertables. “Do you know what these are?” He does. Also knows this is supposed to involve surgical lube, though of course it doesn’t surprise him when she takes out the tube from the bedroom. She puts on both gloves this time.

He’s seen enough to be able to tell that she knows what she’s doing. Which mostly means that the session feels more like going down the ‘best practices’ list and adding ‘on the other hand’ notes to everything. Barely pauses, for accustomization or otherwise, and force that isn't gentle at all. She pinches his balls again, this time with metal clips, squeezes his dick around the sound.

“Does that hurt?”

“Yes,” he manages, as she pulls on the clip.

“If any part of it stops hurting, tell me. Or just hurts less.” That’s not a problem that comes up very often. When it does, she tugs the clips or adds more, squeezes out more lube, pushes fingers into him again.

“Better?” she asks, and he can’t even begin to think how he should answer that. She twists the new clip. “I’ll take that for a yes.”

At one point, she pauses with her fingers in him, other side of the toy now. “How prone are you to overstimulation?” ‘As prone as you want’, is the proper answer to that, and he’s not sure how to give it either. “Because I have a bullet vibe around here somewhere, but if you’ll be having fun, that’s out.”

“I won’t be having fun.” Whatever pleasure she doesn’t want him to have, he doesn’t get. Instead it’s just excruciating. (“Is that the right place?” she’d asked him. He was shaking with it already, his rim trying to contract around the toy and her hand. “No,” he manages this time, barely. She withdraws her fingers. “Fix it for me, then. Your hands are bigger than mine anyway.” She hands him the lube. “Wherever you’re most sensitive, that’s where I want it.” Of course, she gets what she wants.)

She orders him through cleaning the sounds when she’s done with them. Leaves everything else in place, pauses a few times to pull on a clip again or turn the vibrator up. 

When she turns the vibrator off, it feels hollow in the space where it’s not still pain, like silence after a jet engine.

“There’s a plastic cup next to you, bring it over here.” He goes to hand it to her but she doesn’t take it. “No, that’s all for you.” If she wanted him to know, he would, so she wants him to guess. He puts a hand on his dick again. “Other fluids this time.” She’s leaning against the doorway. “Fill up the cup. Don’t spill.” His body obliges in this too. It burns, but there’s not too much blood. She walks up behind him again, yanks on three clips one after another. Then moves so she can see him again. “Well?” It's worse than hers was, maybe some kind of diet question, maybe just because there's more of it. Trying to inhale less helps, somewhat. “That’s why you stay hydrated,” she tells him when he puts the cup down. Opens her hand to show him the clips she has left. “Show me where these will hurt the most.”

After that, she has him wipe himself down, working around the clips, before rolling on a condom. 

“Add the lube in, but only at the tip, I don’t want it getting out.” She’s unzipping her pants. “Cum and chemicals are only fun inside other people.” She points him back to the couch and straddles him.

“I’m going to be busy, so pain management’s on you. Lube’s over there. You know where the clips and your fingers are. Don’t ever touch me.” She pauses over him when she raises herself up.

“You’re going to come when I tell you to, and you’re not going to like it.”

* * *

(“God, you’re a drama queen,” says Kara later, when he tries to suggest he go down on her an extra time rather than - what she was suggesting. “You complain about getting laid so much it’s no wonder you could never hold down a girlfriend. Mission’s a success. Have some fun.”

“I love my job, I told you that.” It’s harder to say some days than others. “I know how to have fun.” 

She relents in the end, if not without further complaint. And he wakes up still alive, and she doesn’t shoot him the next day either, so he supposes it’s success all around.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular scene is only about the second part of the 'deal'; the first part happened before the story begins and is not described. Also, more mundane noncon with Kara at the end.


	2. Chapter 2

Some people liked variety. Some people were very single minded. Some people, John found out, were both.

“You ever been fucked before?” the guy asks him (John doesn’t know his name. Doesn’t know anything except that he probably doesn’t actually live here, that he wouldn’t trade the briefcase they brought for the location of their mark. That he traded it after all, when John asked).

“Yes,” John says. The briefcase lies on the nightstand at an angle. Kara is off somewhere, doing the research follow-up on the lead he relayed her.

“Take off your clothes and lie on the bed,” the guy says, and walks out of the room. He comes back shirtless but not naked, a harness on over his boxers. The strapon is fuschia; moderately sized and the material looks good, so he’s lucky today, there. The guy walks up behind him, touches him. (John set out the lube on the second nightstand because any chance is worth it, but unless someone wants to watch, not being allowed to prep while waiting usually isn’t a good sign.) 

“I’ve always wondered what it’s like dry.” John would readily tell him all about it, and then some, but the guy doesn’t ask. Just lines up and sheathes himself in a thrust.

What he can do means his body will open, nothing will tear too badly. What he can do means he can’t try to move away, sometimes can’t even shift to change the angle. He fists his hands in the sheets as the guy fucks into him. 

He hates strapons sometimes, because there’s no ‘over’ with them. When the guy pulls out he’s breathing harshly, but the fuschia cock will be as hard as ever. The guy walks around, sits on the bed against the headboard.

“Get over here and suck me off.” John is as thorough as he can be, swallows down the cock, tries to satisfy with the show of it even as he also just tries to cover the surface, leave it as wet as possible. He has a sense for these things, at this point. This isn’t going to be finished yet.

“Bend over the footboard.” John gets off the bed, goes where he’s told. Takes handfuls of the blanket again, preemptively. The guy goes even harder at it this time, drives into him over and over, takes advantage of position and leverage, of John’s inability to collapse under him. He’s breathless again, when he’s finished. The cock, unflagging, slides in the space between John’s legs as its owner leans on him to gather himself.

“Back on the bed,” he says when he straightens up. John lies down again, other way around this time. The guy tosses him the bottle from the nightstand.

“Show me how you get yourself ready.”

_ Your schedule could use refinement _ , John doesn’t say. Can’t, and wouldn’t if he could. Gratitude is important. They’re still not going to be done, and he’s been grateful for much smaller mercies than this. He squeezes the lube out, moves his fingers in himself. Tries not to flinch too much.

“Enough,” the guy tells him. Gets on the bed as well, covers John with his body. Takes his time and pushes in.

It’s slow, this time. Rolling motions, deep and unhurried. John gets to close his eyes, so he does it, reads motion above him in the pattern of the light behind his eyelids. Tries to slow down his breathing, tries to use this reprieve of somewhat less pain to ready more for whatever comes next.

What comes next is the guy moving up over John’s body, settling his knees on the pillows and pushing the cock into John’s mouth again. He can’t take it down his throat, at this angle, feels the end of it on his soft palate. Still pinned down, tries to lift his head to cough when it’s removed, his own saliva going where it shouldn’t. The guy gets off him, hands him a tablet from the nightstand drawer. 

“Find me some positions I’ll like.” And he leaves the room again. John scrolls through pictures of stick figures and solid-colored bodies, smiling models and drawings that span the continuum from sketches to something like cartoons. He wonders if the guy has gone to gratify himself, since it doesn’t seem that’s something he wants John doing for him. The strapon looks readjusted when the guy returns, at least, though John doesn’t get long to observe it. The guy takes the tablet back from him, looks at John’s first selection.

“So? Move.” John moves. 

At some point, even with the strapon, John thinks the stamina is getting somewhat inordinate. Like drinking on shore leave from some of his counterparts, trying to compress the whole experience into available time. Though even for shore leave, this was pushing it.

“Get up and find me one with a better angle,” the guy says, nudging John with a foot. “If I wanted a smaller dick, I would have bought one.” John stands, takes the tablet. Moves back toward the bed and tries to ignore the places where there’s blood on the sheets.

Sometimes, the guy stops and tells John to suck him off again. On his knees, on the bed one way or another. He sits, stands, still sometimes, lets John do the moving.

“Choke yourself on it,” he says, and John does. Then he has John hold where he is and thrusts, fucks John’s throat till it hurts to swallow. Hurts to talk when the guy says, “what’s the next position,” and John brings it up, waits for approval before getting where he’s supposed to be, spreading his legs again. 

Sometimes he gets to beg for one or the other. When the guy straddles his face and grabs the tablet, just holds there, John’s throat convulsing around the fuschia cock, letting up now and then barely long enough for John to get a breath. 

“Please,” John can say after that. “Please, I need you inside me.”

“Please,” he can say, when his arms tremble from combined weights, when every thrust feels like a knife in him. “Let me have it in my mouth, let me show you.” 

Twice more the guy leaves John and the room, returns after a little. The second time he has John remake the bed while he’s gone, comes back and throws himself down on it with an exhale like after training.

“That’s it,” he says. John can’t say he’s surprised. He’s exhausted half-entirely, and he hasn’t been the one moving. “You’re doing the work now.” He gestures down at the strap on.

John gets where he’s supposed to be, again, tries to make it look good again.

“Quit with the pussyfooting, it’s not a bomb.” He does as he’s told. The guy doesn’t seem particularly interested in his reaction, one way or another, so he doesn’t have to hide it, but he doesn’t have to start showing pain more than he can manage not to, either. Which - he wouldn’t so much mind defusing a bomb instead, at this point. Significantly before this point. 

“Alright, enough, some of us need to sleep.” John stops moving again. Still not done, which says something about the guy, but he’s been kept overnight before. Usually that means sleeping on the floor, though he’s stood or knelt when he’s had to. And shared the bed, when he’s had to, which can be less to be preferred, really. He starts to move off, and can’t.

“That’s me, not you - you can stay right where you are. And that’s my bed, keep your hands off it.” He adjusts his pillow, reaches for the lights. “Keep it warm for me.” His hand finds the switch and the room goes dark. John can hear his breathing as it settles out. (He should be used to it at this point when options he hadn’t thought of present themselves. Should be used to that, or anything, that ‘it can be worse’ is a first lesson he ever learned. Can be, would be. On the bed, unable to move up or down, unable to keep completely still on the less than unvarying surface, over their nameless informant who isn’t exactly motionless himself, it seems he isn’t yet). 

John knows he’s very strong, his physical condition is in top percentiles. It would be worse, almost certainly, if he wasn’t. It’s not enough. Before even a few hours his thighs are trembling with the strain, his back above his pelvis protests the position. Every now and then the guy wakes briefly, thrusts up into John. Reignites pain that never really went away, sends it stabbing through him. 

At some point after two the guy wakes up more completely. Tips John over,  sets for it into him with apparently rested force. Rolls over again after, making John move with him. 

“Fuck yourself on it and don’t wake me up,” he says, and is out again in minutes. John does as he’s told. Tries not to look at the clock too much. The next time the guy wakes up and pulls him down, it’s almost a relief.

“Alright, get off,” says the guy after. “Can’t have you open all night. Get that mouth of yours over here now.” John moves himself down the bed, wraps his lips around the silicone. “None of that surface bs, do you think I can see you? Get it down and keep it there. Much as you can.” This time, John can’t tell when exactly the guy falls asleep. Or see the clock, much. He can’t decide if that’s particularly better.

In the morning, the guy wakes up for good. Shoves John off him and sits up. (Coherence started becoming less than effortless at some point, the only excuse John can think of for not noticing the guy was awake until it came to physical force). He takes the tablet out again to check something, probably of his own, because he doesn’t ask for John’s input again. There’s nothing elaborate, this time. He fucks John’s throat again, then his ass, brutally and at length. Leaves John on the bed when he gets up. John’s head is spinning, his muscles burn, moving sends spasms of pain through him. That’s mostly the best of it. 

The guy tosses him his clothes from the chair he left them on. 

“I don’t want to see you when I get back.” He leaves the room again, the strapon jutting out in front of him. It  _ was _ good material. Some soap, maybe boiling water, and it should be about good as new. John levers himself up, braces against the headboard. Hears the shower running. Hurries to dress, as he can, in case it stops before long. 

The guy, of course, is getting what he wants.

* * *

(“He’s dead,” says Kara later, when he asks about the mark. “Nice to get our money’s worth from an informant. I had to move the body all by myself, too, since you never showed up. You really need to stop sticking me with all the hard work.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” John promises. (His throat is mostly numb by now. Lube isn’t the only thing he carries, at this point.)

“You’d better. Anyway, we got a call, there’s a train to Bern-”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (No I'm pretty sure this isn't physically possible.)

**Author's Note:**

> As in this verse in general, the premise of this story is that John has the power to ask people for things they wouldn't have done otherwise but are on some level open to, and in return he owes them sexual satisfaction however they might want it. So, he always has agency in making the decision, but he wouldn't choose to have this sex otherwise, and it's generally something he endures rather than wants.
> 
> Seriously, this is PwP of generally torture-side noncon. 
> 
> (Please feel very free to let me know if there's warnings I should have here and haven't added).
> 
> The kinks included here are treated the way they are because they are being done nonconsensually and for the purposes of being awful to someone. Some people do these things consensually, and that is very valid and as legitimate as any kink or interest.
> 
> Note: I haven't done most of the things I'm describing and they're a bit hard to research ideally well, so there's probably inaccuracies in here. The official handwave is 'John's power thing', the out-of-universe statement is 'totally feel free to inform me if you want, but this really is one of those 'I'm writing this for the PwP, so I'll do my best, but my priorities are going to be in accordance' situations.
> 
> [My tumblr for these kinds of things](http://findundergrounddragoutofwater.tumblr.com). I love fandom social things, and anyone who feels like they might want to message etc me for any reason is encouraged to totally do so.


End file.
